


the hard truth of being free

by badAquatic



Series: Trailerstuck [73]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human/Troll Society, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Cults, F/M, M/M, Organized Crime, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-04 09:42:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3063107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badAquatic/pseuds/badAquatic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Preaching used to fill your spare time and now? Mindless wrestling, mindless violence, a cycle of pointlessness, and occasionally someone dies. The last time it was Thetas. The next time you’re not sure. Maybe it’ll be you.</p><p>Takes place a day after "lives built on sand".</p>
            </blockquote>





	the hard truth of being free

**== >Be the oldest purpleblood**

 

You wake up Sunday morning with a mild headache. Meulin mumbles, still asleep, and you kiss the top of her head. She bats at your face and you gently bite her fingers, grinning.

Her eyes open and she looks up at you. “Hey. How are you doing?”

<<FINE, BUT I’M NOT THE PREGNANT ONE.>> you say.

Meulin grins. “Twins. Can you believe it? Between Simham and these two we’re going to have so many kids running around…” She frowns. “Kurloz, you know I don’t like to meddle in your personal matters but…we can’t have this happen again. I don’t want to explain to your children why you’re in prison. Again.”

You’re not going back to prison. You’ll put a knife to your throat before the cuffs were clasped around your wrist. You understand her concern though. The shootout was a nightmare and you’re all alive because of quick thinking and well warmed friends.

<<I’LL HANDLE IT.>> you promise.

Meulin kisses you. “Good. I want Simham to know her grandfather.”

<<DON’T CALL ME A GRANDFATHER. I ALREADY FEEL SO DATED COMPARED TO NEPETA.>>

Meulin smiles. “You should get used to it because that’s what you are.”

You get up to make her breakfast. You have to keep preoccupied to distract your mind from Alternian Faygo. You’ve been craving it since that monster came into your neighborhood and treated every tough bastard in the park like a toy. If you were still a follower of the mirthful ways, you would have enjoyed the delicious slaughter he brought and the empty nothingness.

But you’re no longer mirthful and your life is empty. Preaching used to fill your spare time and now? Mindless wrestling, mindless violence, a cycle of pointlessness, and occasionally someone dies. The last time it was Thetas. The next time you’re not sure. Maybe it’ll be you and you’re indifferent toward your own death. The danger for your family would ebb away if you were dead.

You shouldn’t be having these thoughts.

You cook breakfast and serve it to your family. You eat at the new dining table and watch the morning news. There’s a lot going on in the city these days. There’s an active investigation into the bodies found in the Wild Cesspool along with an uncovering of the decaying remains of several others.

“Even with our advanced tech, it’ll be at least another day before the bodies are properly identified.” says a forensics expert to a reporter, “The fire damage consumed everything that would allow for quick identification including hair and eyes, so we’re going by dental records. It’s been difficult since most of the dental records are unregistered but we have a possible match with two of the bodies. Whoever these people were, most of them were illegal immigrants who’ve never been to a dentist in their life or at least a legalized one.”

“Speculation varies amongst the police who the identities of these victims were or what they were doing in the toxic area commonly known as the Wild Cesspool.” says the reporter, transitioning to the glowing swamp that the police are currently excavating.

“This was obviously some kind of drug deal gone wrong,” Chief Swan says, staring hard into the camera, “This area is well known for being a hideout for poachers, smugglers, and all kinds of lowlifes, but even if they were lowlifes, their lives still matter in the eyes of the law. Whoever perpetrated this brutal murder will be brought to justice and the wrong doings of both parties will be brought to light.”

<<BIG TALK FROM A MAN WHOSE ONLY THERE FOR SHOW AND LETS HIS SUBORDINATES DO EVERYTHING.>> you snort.

“I don’t like the way that man stares at everything.” Meulin says with a shudder, “He doesn’t blink either.”

“He blinks. Just not very much.” Nepeta says.

“Still creepy…” Meulin mutters.

The news then goes to the sinkhole and how experts are examining the contents of it. A geological professor from NJCC says how they’re having difficulty measuring its depth but the contents of the mud are the exact opposite of what people say. The mud isn’t toxic and neither is the water. It’s actually free of parasites and pathogens common to the area.

The professor is excited for the news. “Obviously this needs to be studied further! This is _amazing_!”

While the professor is excited, the locals in the neighborhood are not. People are protesting outside of the DD’s office, insisting they be relocated for their own safety no matter the water quality. The camera gets shoved into a few faces talking about free relocation and insurance paying out for the sinkhole hazard.

“Damara said she saw something near there.” Meulin says.

“Something?” Nepeta croaks.

 

“She said something rose out of the mud and stalked around on all fours, like a crippled troll or a madman. She’s not the only one seeing shapes.” Meulin rolls her eyes. “I think everyone is still spooked after the shootout. I think it was just a lusus looking for food and water. It must have smelt the fresh water for a change.”

“Yeah.” Nepeta mutters, “A lusus…”

Even when you were religious you didn’t believe in monsters, from sinkholes or otherwise. The news then moves to discuss the corruption probe and embezzlement at WMS. Sweaty shareholders squint as cameras are flashed in their face while they give testimonies before a tribunal. There’s no mention of Nektan Whelan as the blame for the corruption scandal has been shifted to the top port manager.

You collect breakfast and load them into the dishwasher. Breakfast and cleaning is usually Meulin’s thing but she has to stay off her feet as much as possible. You clean the house with Nepeta and then kiss your matesprit.

<<I’M HEADING OUT. ARE YOU GOING TO BE ALRIGHT?>> you ask.

“Kurloz, I’ll be _fine_.” Meulin pats your shoulder.

“I’ll be here too,” Nepeta says, “just hanging out with Simham until they hatch.”

<<WHEN’S SHE HATCHING?>> you ask.

Nepeta briefly calculates before saying, “Around the end of November.”

You have to think about where you’re going to put all these kids. You doubt Nepeta’s room is too small for two more additions. You hate how two-story trailers look but you may have no choice in the matter. You can’t have the twins sleeping on the couch or in the kitchen.

You leave the trailer and see the police are parked across the street. Two officers are sitting in the car. They’re sipping their coffee so they must have been waiting for you to come out. It’s pouring ice-cold rain so you bring out your umbrella as you march through the mud. The car starts following you as you walk to Rufioh’s. You would be annoyed but they’ve been constantly following you these days.

Rufioh and Porrim are relaxing on the front porch watching the rain pour. You have to step over the mud puddles on the lawn and the animals hanging out. You almost step on a stray cat, which glares at you and then runs through a hole in the porch.

<<I DON’T QUITE REMEMBER IT BEING WILD KINGDOM OVER HERE THE LAST TIME I WAS HERE.>> you say, stepping onto the porch.

“We have a lot more houseguests that usual since Dad came.” Rufioh says.

“It’s not _that_ unwanted. We have a bit of a situation.” Porrim says.

<<SITUATION?>> you ask.

“Tavros saw a rat.” Rufioh says, “I was ready to disbelieve him but then a _giant_ one was chewing on my pot leaves. Since then we’ve been letting the cats inside.”

<< _RATS_? >> You shake your head. <<THIS PLACE REALLY IS GOING TO HELL.>>

Porrim nods and tilts her head, looking around you. “Speaking of hell, your friends are still with you.”

You look over your shoulder and see the cop car is lingering across the street still.

You turn away, rolling your eyes. <<THEY WON’T GET OUT OF THE CAR AND FACE ME SINCE I’M JUST TALKING WITH TWO WARMBLOODS. IT’D BE DIFFERENT IF I WENT TO ANOTHER PURPLEBLOOD. THEY WOULD ASSUME IT WAS A DRUG DEAL AND BE TEMPTED TO SHOOT OR BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF ME.>>

“They definitely would.” Rufioh says, gloomily, “Only humans like having all these cops around. We’re dirt on the pavement as far as the NJPD care.”

“What about the troll cops, like your son?” Porrim asks.

“Troll cops are no different. If anything they can be _worse_.” Rufioh says, “And Equius is easily led astray. I don’t think he has the mental fortitude to _not_ be brainwashed like the rest of them.” He rubs the back of his head. “That’s really a concern for him since he’s an adult. I’m more annoyed that I can’t sell my weed easily. There’s too much of a risk with all these cops.”

<<WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO MAKE ENDS MEET?>>

“I’ve been looking into a steady job.” Rufioh says with a deafest groan, “Dad’s offered me some money but I’m too old to be mooching off my parents. I dunno who’ll hire me though given my few skills. Flying and animal psionics are the only advantage I have.”

“I’m helping him put together his resume.” Porrim says, “I think it’s a good idea for _everyone_ to get out of any crime connected jobs”—she looks poignantly at you but you ignore her—“given that the atmosphere is getting more dangerous. If Papa Lobster can be harmed, then anyone’s head is on the table.”

You stare at her indifferently about the news. Porrim shrugs and goes inside the trailer. You take her position on the porch just as the cop car finally drives off.

“They’ve been stalking you a lot.” Rufioh says.

<<THEY FOLLOW ANYONE SUSPICIOUS,>> you admit, <<AND IT’S NOT LIKE THEY’RE FAR OFF THE MARK. THEY’RE RIGHT TO SUSPECT ME. MAYBE I SHOULD GO TO JAIL.>>

Rufioh frowns. “Don’t think like that. We know what ‘jail’ actually means for you.” You don’t answer and Rufioh touches your shoulder. “I know you’re scared to become a parent again but that’s no reason to think you’re worthless or that you shouldn’t be a parent because of what happened to Nepeta.”

<<IT’S NOT JUST THAT,>> you admit, <<WHAT DO MY CHILDREN HAVE TO LOOK UP TO?  SOMEONE WHO MURDERS PEOPLE FOR MONEY BECAUSE NO ONE WILL HIRE HIM? WHAT WILL HAPPEN IN THE FUTURE? I COULD HAVE BEEN ONE OF THE BODIES IN THAT SWAMP.>>

“Yes. You could have,” Rufioh acknowledges, “which I think is even more reason to get out while you still can. Have you thought about going back to school? Maybe getting your GED and then to a trade school?”

<<I DON’T THINK IT’S WROTH THE TIME AND MONEY TO BE UNEMPLOYED. NO MATTER WHAT SKILLS I HAVE, I’M TAINTED.>> you say.

“Stop being so pessimistic, Kur. You’re not like the average uneducated criminal. Listen, big guys like Capone have to deal with unions and workers to get their fancy mansions done. They have to use electricians, carpenters, architects, and then there are jobs that do security. I bet you could get a job at a casino or a club doing bouncing. You’d work long hours but you’d still get paid.”

You shake your head. <<I DON’T WANT TO TALK ABOUT MY DWINDLING JOB PROSPECTS. DID YOU SEE THE NEWS?>>

Rufioh relents and leans back, accepting the change in topic. “Yes, the NJPD are really determined to investigate what happened to those bodies and I don’t blame them. It’s disconcerting about how many people were found in that place and no one knows how they got here.” He frowns more. “The actual murders don’t upset me as much as the implication of the time frame. They said that the murders were as recent as two days ago.”

<<SO?>>

“You didn’t hear about Kankri?” You shake your head. “Terezi said that on Friday night Kankri went missing for several hours and didn’t come home until midnight. He was triggered and couldn’t talk about what he saw or did. She also said he smelt of smoke and blood. Now Karkat says that Meliak, Sergei, and other Trussians are missing.”

<<PAPA LOBSTER IS MISSING?>> You hadn’t heard about that. You haven’t been in the most social mood lately. If those bodies found in the swamp belonged to the infamous Trussian gang leader, then that would cause even more upheaval in New Jack City. <<YOU CAN’T SERIOUSLY THINK KANKRI KILLED THEM. MELIAK WAS HUGE AND WOULD’VE WIPED THE FLOOR WITH KANKRI.>>

Rufioh shrugs. “You never know what people are capable of and Kankri had the motivation to do it. He hated the Trussians more than anyone and when he’s angry, he’s capable of _immense_ strength and blind rage.”

You do know that. Kankri escaped the manor during a fit of rage, which means he tussled with the guards inside and out. He must have seriously injured or killed two or more people. Even knowing that you still can’t see Kankri taking on Meliak and walking away with all his limbs.

<<ONLY THE SIGNLESS COULD PUT SERGEI AND MELIAK IN THEIR PLACES.>> you say.

“It doesn’t matter. It’s not like they were related to any of us.” the brownblood sighs. A cat jumps into his lap and he starts petting it. “It’s a sign of the times. Organized crime is finally dying in this city.” He looks at you. “What are you going to do?”

<<I DON’T KNOW YET.>> You don’t know how much longer Capone will tolerate you since his murder attempt failed. <<CAN I BORROW YOUR TRUCK? I DON’T THINK THE POLICE WILL FOLLOW ME IN IT.>>

“As long as you fuel it up and don’t use it for any shenanigans, feel free.”

You nod and head inside the trailer. Gamzee and Tavros are sitting on the couch with Gamzee’s eyes on the screen as he’s gaming and Tavros typing on his husktop.

“Where in the fuck is all this stuff coming from? This is like the most cluttered house in the universe.” Gamzee growls.

“It’s _Katamari Damacy,_ Gamzee. It’s supposed to be cluttered. It’s like everyone in Japan is like a hoarder.” Tavros looks at you, smirking. “Hey, mime-in-law.”

<<I TOLD YOU NOT TO CALL ME THAT.>> you growl, <<GAMZEE, WE HAVE TO TALK.>>

“Fuck you, mime, I’m _katamari_ -ing.” Gamzee growls.

You roll your eyes, walk over, and grab Gamzee by the hair, forcibly dragging him from the couch. He yells the entire time about losing his high score while Tavros promises to finish the round. You don’t release his hair until you’re on the back porch.

“What is your fucking _problem_?” Gamzee snarls, showing you his fangs.

<<MY PROBLEM IS YOU BEING AN IDIOT AND ME HAVING TO CONSTANTLY PUT UP WITH IT.>> you say. <<TRY NOT TO BE A SHITHEAD FOR ONE MINUTE. I HAVE TO TELL YOU SOMETHING.>>

Gamzee frowns. “This isn’t going to get weird, right?”

You stare at him. <<WHAT ARE YOU IMPLYING?>>

“We ain’t talked in a while and I was aiming to keep it that way, you fuck.” Gamzee growls, “You know how much I hate you.” He adds a minute later. “ _Platonically_.”

<<OF COURSE PLATONICALLY. GROSS!>> you say, <<WHY WOULD I FUCK YOU? YOU’RE LIKE A FOUR.>>

“A _four_? Fuck you!” Gamzee thumps his chest proudly. “I’m at _least_ a seven.”

<<A SEVEN? IN YOUR DREAMS YOU’RE A SEVEN. YOU’RE SKINNY AS FUCK, COVERED IN SCARS, AND YOU HAVE THAT RAT’S NEST ON TOP OF YOUR HEAD.>>

“You’re the one with the rat’s nest! You have ten times more hair and some people think scars are hot!” Gamzee folds his arms. “Did you bring me out here so that you could tell me how unattracted you were to me?”

<<I WANTED TO THANK YOU BEFORE YOU SIDETRACKED ME WITH STUPID BULLSHIT.>>

“Thank me for what?”

<<FOR SAVING MY NECK DURING THE SHOOTOUT.>> Gamzee frowns, as if he hadn’t expected you to remember that or to be thanked for it. It’s unusual given the environment _he_ was brought up in it was every troll for himself.

Which means he made a conscious decision to look out for you.

Gamzee frowns. “So?”

You guess if you’re looking for confession or closeness, it’s not happening. <<T WAS NO ACCIDENT OUR TRAILER GOT SHOT UP. TODAY I’M FACING CAPONE AND THERE’S A RISK I COULD BE HURT OR KILLED. IF THAT HAPPENS, I WANT YOU TO KNOW I BELIEVED YOUR INNOCENCE. YOU SHOULD REOPEN YOUR CASE.>>

He looks stunned and then immediately averts his gaze. “What makes you so fucking smart? You weren’t even there when it happened, you fuck.” he growls, under his breath.

<<BECAUSE EVEN WHEN YOU WERE A KID YOU HAD ENOUGH BRAIN CELLS TO THROW AWAY THE EVIDENCE IF YOU ATTACKED SOMEONE. THAT MARK ON YOUR RECORD GIVES THE POLICE A REASON TO HARASS YOU. CONSIDER REOPENING THE CASE OR AT LEAST TALK IT OVER WITH YOUR MOIRAIL.>>

Gamzee doesn’t answer. You go borrow Rufioh’s keys and get into his truck. You drive from the trailer, passing by the police who ignore you. They’ve gotten into the habit of tailing your car so you’ve been careful with your movements. The fuckers are just _looking_ for an excuse to throw you back in prison.

You go to the warehouse which has more graffiti and garbage now than you care to have around your stomping grounds. When you enter you’re assaulted by loud music and the cackle of young clowns, who shirk as soon as you walk by. It’s motherfucking pathetic. They’re _children_ compared to you.

Phaxin is in the back sitting on a moldy couch. His skinny frame is against Harqun’s, their faces turned so you can’t read their lips. To these baby thugs, it must look like they’re making out but your hitman scrutiny tells you they’re talking business.

You walk over, clearing your throat. <<AM I INTERRUPTING SOMETHING?>>

Harqun pushes Phaxin away. “No.”

“Yes.” Phaxin says, in his annoyed high-pitched tone.

You gesture to the baby thugs. <<HAVING A PARTY?>>

“Celebrating the disappearance of a certain Lobster.” Phaxin says.

“Of course _this_ is how they would react to the news.” Harqun stands, preening her fur coat. “I’m out.”

“Baby, don’t be like that!” Phaxin whines.

“Call me ‘baby’ again and I’ll shove a broom up your nook.” Harqun says without sparing Phaxin a second glance.

Once she leaves Phaxin scowls at you, “Should’ve called you the Prince of Bulgeblocking.”

<<YET ANOTHER TITLE FOR MY AMAZING ABILITIES TO WARP SPACE AND TIME. I NEED TO SEE THE AMMO CACHE.>>

Phaxin nods and leads you to the backdoor, heading up a flight of stairs and into the loft he calls home. Phaxin’s apartment has barebones décor and amenities as most of his cash goes toward the colossal computer consul. There’s still paint on the walls from when Phaxin, Thetas, and you tried to ‘brighten up’ the bare brick and mortar walls.

You sit on Phaxin’s futon (which also serves as his couch and bed) while Phaxin sits in his computer chair. <<IF WE WERE THEIR AGE, WE’D BE DOWNSTAIRS GETTING TORE UP TOO. NOW WE’RE SITTING AROUND LIKE OLD MEN.>>

Phaxin snorts. “Like I wanna associate with those punks. They’re meat shields who don’t question Capone and are eager to do shit for chump change. Motherfucking sheep is what they are.”

You smirk. <<SOUNDS LIKE CAPONE IS USING GILPIN’S METHODS OF RECRUITING. AIN’T THAT THE HEIGHT OF FUCKING IRONY? MAYBE HE’LL START WEARING HER PANTSUITS TOO?>>

Phaxin laughs. “Motherfucker doesn’t have the hips to pull that shit off!”

You both laugh. Phaxin gets you both cold Faygo Red from his minifridge.

<<HARQUN TOLD YOU WHAT HAPPENED TO MY HOOD?>> you ask.

Phaxin nods. “Shit was most nasty. I thought you were gonna be in the hospital, invertibro.”

<<I THOUGHT SO TOO BUT ALL I GOT WAS A BAD COUGH FROM TEAR GAS, GLASS IN MY BACK, AND PARASITES FROM THE FUCKING TOXIC MUD.>> You frown. <<ALSO, WHO IN THE SHIT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE BUGGING MY HOUSE, PHAXIN?>>

Phaxin’s ears turn purple. “I was just helping you out, bro! I knew some shit was going to go down.”

<<STILL NOT COOL. WHO KNOWS WHAT YOU LISTENED IN ON?>>

Phaxin smirks. “For the record I couldn’t hear anything you said and I didn’t hear you fucking… _much_.”

<<NICE TO KNOW YOU’RE A VOYEUR ON TOP OF BEING A NESTROBBER.>>

Phaxin raises an eyebrow. “If I remember right, _you’re_ the one with the longer history of voyeurism _,_ exhibitionism, nestrobbing, cross-dressing--”

<<YOU ARE NOT RESPECTING THE GOLDEN RULE,>> you growl, <<WHAT HAPPENS DURING MIRTH GRAS IS NEVER TO BE BROUGHT UP AGAIN.>>

Phaxin grins, holding up his hands. “Chill, man. I’m just busting your eggsack. You ain’t the only clown who made poor holiday choices. Your Dad’s the _king_ of poor choices and not just on holidays.”

<<AND THAT’S WHY HE’S GOING TO BE JAIL FOREVER.>> You kick his leg. <<ENOUGH WITH THE FRIENDLY BANTER. I WANT INTEL. IS PAPA LOBSTER DEAD?>>

Phaxin leans back. “Word on the street is that the bodies they found in the Wild Cesspool were Trussian because that’s where they dumped their bodies. Or that’s what I heard from a little crab. Trussians ain’t the ones to usually talk their business.”

You shudder. You remember Meenah daring Rufioh and you to go into the Wild Cesspool but even Rufioh was freaked out by the giant lusus and you weren’t going to get near that radioactive glow. You may be a purpleblood but you’re not immortal.

<<WHAT’S CAPONE BEEN UP TO SINCE MY HOOD’S BEEN IN LOCKDOWN?>>

Phaxin listens to the noise downstairs. It sounds like several young clowns are drunk and yelling over each other about which band to play next.

“Nobody knows what they’re doing,” Phaxin admits in a low voice, “WMS is in a financial crisis so the port’s shut down. Nothing goes in and out that way and all the pigs are watching the other ports and your hood too. They’re making lists of who lives there and whose got business in the slums. Ninth Ward was where we get our supply, demand, and workforce. Shit is _not_ choice right now for the gang, brother, and that’s just the tip of the motherfucking iceberg.”

<<WHAT’S THE REST LIKE?>>

“Capone is keeping it under wraps but I managed to wine and dine Vinnie for some info: the slave and drug trade’s changing. Our merch isn’t selling for high prices anymore.”

<<HOW’D THAT HAPPEN?>>

“Most of our slave merch goes to the northern continent: Indie, Chinacan, and Shongolia. The Brotherhood’s been selling warmblood slaves there for decades so now the market’s saturated. The purpleblood population in Chinacan and Indie are shrinking. It’s mostly warmbloods now.” Phaxin inhales slowly. “The fucking _Trussians_ are filling the sex market with ceruleans and purples. They’re selling just as high as mutantbloods used to.”

The slave trade already repulses you but the idea of _your_ hemotype being preyed on makes you feel physically ill.  <<HOW’S CAPONE HANDLING THIS?>>

“No idea. He’s keeping it under wraps but it can’t be good. Capone’s group of cronies may be suck-ups but they ain’t stupid enough to _not_ notice how the gang’s hemorrhaging money.”

That’ll definitely cause a power schism in the very near future. <<AND THE DRUG TRADE?>>

“With the port closed, there’s no quick and easy way to get our goods in and out of the city and drugs go bad quick if you let it just sit. No one in New Jack wants soporin and mind honey anyone. Rumor is someone’s pushing something new amongst the college kids.”

<<THE TRUSSIANS AGAIN? OR THE CHEUBS?>>

Phaxin shakes his head. “Cherubs all just up and disappeared soon as your hood was shot up. Nobody’s sure who’s pushing this new stuff but I’m thinking maybe one of them all-human gangs ‘cause they ain’t selling to Hellcats or Street Summoners. They call it ecto-cooler but since I ain’t human or a college kid, I ain’t had it.”

<<HOW’S CAPONE REACTED TO MY TRAILER GETTING SHOT UP BY HIS GOOD PALS THE CHERUBS?>>

Phaxin stares at you. “Word didn’t get out that the Cherubs did it until the news said so. Capone assumed some UBK goons did it dressed up as Cherubs to frame them. Apparently he has video evidence of a confession from a UBK foot soldier they captured.”

<<HOW CAN ANYONE BELIEVE THAT BULLSHIT? CAPONE JUST TORTURED THE CONFESSION OUT OF THEM. A TORTURED CAPTIVE WILL SAY ANYTHING TO GET THE PAIN TO STOP.>> It was one the important lessons your father taught Porrim and you.

“Everyone believes him so…” Phaxin shrugs.

You groan. <<SO THE PEOPLE IN OUR GANG ARE DUMB AS CHILDREN. WONDERFUL.>>

Phaxin stares at you. “Most of the people in our gang _are_ children. The only people over the age of twenty-five are Capone’s cronies, Vinnie, you, and me.”

You shake your head. <<THAT CAN’T BE RIGHT.>>

“This shit with the UBK has done in anybody who’s too old and anybody who thinks Capone’s word ain’t law. You’ve been on Capone’s shit list for a long time but the shootout didn’t kill you and now Papa Lobster is missing…I don’t know what he’ll do. Maybe he’ll cool his heels or he’ll wait for you to let your guard down again and take you out in a cleaner way.”

You look at the clock and see time is winding down fast. You need to confront Capone before it gets too late.

<<WHAT ABOUT HARQUN?>>

“If he fucking _touches_ her I’ll”—Phaxin’s snarls but then stops. “She’s way younger than us. She’ll be fine.”

You smirk. <<HOW’S THAT QUADRANT GOING?>>

“ _Fine_.” Phaxin mutters, “You know she’s ain’t the committing kind of troll. She’s all over these days and…” The scrawny troll awkwardly shrugs. “Maybe she thinks I’m too old for her? I’m damn near forty and she’s…shit, I don’t even _know_ her actual age! She could be fucking _sixteen_ for all I know. I could be breaking the law.” He pauses. “More than I already am.”

<<PHAXIN, SHE’S DEFINITELY _NOT_ SIXTEEN. NOT WITH HIPS LIKE THAT. CAPONE MUST KEEP A DOSSIER. HAVE YOU LOOKED AT THAT? >>

“Doesn’t offer much. Born and raised in Aniline End, ran with a tough crowd ‘til she came here.”

<<FIGURES.>> You notice the chain hanging around his neck with the inversed capricorn symbol. You smile. <<YOU’RE STILL WEARING THAT?>>

Phaxin touches the symbol, fidgeting in embarrassment. “It’s something to remind me of her.”

It had been a gift from Thetas to cement their close friendship. You always thought was a little pale for Thetas, no matter how unusual it was for two purplebloods to share a quadrant. It’s a shame it never panned out.

<<I’M FACING CAPONE TONIGHT.>> you say, <<I DON’T KNOW WHAT WILL HAPPEN BUT IF I DON’T COME BACK-->>

“You will.” Phaxin says, suddenly and resolutely.

There’s no room for argument. You nod to your invertibrother and leave the warehouse. The sun has already set over the blocky buildings. You get in the truck but don’t go directly to Capone’s. You drive through the Squalor and see Thetas’s townhouse. The neighborhood is loud in the evening but the building is dark. The townhouse window is still boarded up, stuck in time from when Thetas was here.

You met Thetas during high school. She taught you all there was to know about dealing with people in North and West New Jack and the street lingo. She was a tough girl, born in the Squalor, and raised herself because her parents were trashed on prescription meds.  

Tough as nails and died too young.

You leave the Squalor, feeling numb. You drive to East New Jack and consider your paltry options. Even if you kill Capone, there will be a power vacuum within the Brotherhood and you may as well bury yourself if you take leadership of the gang. People already look at you and listen to your opinions. But outside of the Brotherhood what other options do you have? Is there any hope outside of it?

East New Jack is as pristine as ever. The lawns are flooded from the rain but nothing is choked by overflowing mud. Capone’s manor is still stately with crisp grass and blooming floral bushes. It looks like a tourist postcard of scenic New Jack. You park the truck out front and enter nonchalantly. Bustil is waiting out front and she escorts you, wearing her usual stoic expression.

The manor is quiet and near empty. Capone’s cronies are in their own suburban manors and not even Vinnie or his motor-oil and grease stench are present. You go to Capone’s office and pass through the door alone.

Capone isn’t facing you. He’s not wearing a suit but in a luxury robe holding a glass of expensive Nehetalian wine with the bottle still on the desk. He’s looking out the wall-sized window overseeing his property. You sit in the chair in front of his desk and wait for him to acknowledge you. This is a power play but you have no interest in participating. Not anymore.

Eventually Capone turns around but doesn’t sit. He towers over you, purposely enjoying his power over you.

“I was expecting you sooner.” His eyes are steely, focused on you. They’re watching for sudden movement; for you grabbing a gun and aiming at his skull.

You don’t respond. A man like him doesn’t speak in piecemeal sentences.

Capone stares and then continues, “I was expecting you to come in here gloating about how you were right all along. Of course you never blatantly gloat; just in that passive way you do _everything._ Just like your father when he wasn’t having one of his manic days. Kurloz, I won’t mince words with you. I respect you, as a clown and a troll, but there can’t be two alphas in this gang.”

He puts down the glass and opens the desk. You remain perfectly still. You expect a gun but instead Capone pulls out a slip of paper. He places it on the desk.

“Kill me if you want but there’s no way the _capo de capo_ is going to accept you as one of them.” Capone says, “You may be the son of the Grand Highblood but the Brotherhood hasn’t adhered to that mindset for years. This is a Nehetalian business now. There’s no going back.” He nods to the slip of paper. “You have two options: you take this money and leave. Pack up, go to Midway or Dadlas. I don’t care where but leave. It’s the best option I can give you right now since I’m not the only one gunning for you.”

You question who else is gunning for you besides Capone but you say nothing. You look at that check and question if it would even remain cashable the minute you leave New Jack City. You remain silent, withholding everything from Capone.

The beads of sweat are visible on Capone’s forehead. He’s not just making a power play anymore. He’s gambling. “And the second option--and you should be thankful you _have_ a second--is you stay through the shit storm that you no doubt will stir up.”

He’s cursing which means he’s on edge. You slowly stand and Capone inches away from the desk, hands drifting to his side. You stare at him and then turn away. You keep your hands on the chair, gripping it.

Before you can leave Capone yells, “What are you doing? Wait, let me guess.” He snickers. “You’re going to pull that ‘I’m going straight’ and ‘Gotta do it for my kid’ shit again? Give me a break. You’re more soiled than a mutie fucktoy. No one will hire you. No one’s going to risk it ever again. You’ll go broke, starve, and become an addict all over again. Who are you kidding, Kurloz? Your life is pointless without violence. That’s all there is to it now. What else do you have besides the Brotherhood?”

You don’t know. You step away slowly and hear Capone growl. You wait for the familiar _click_ and when it happens you duck down. The bullet goes over your head and through the door. Capone curses in Nehetalian but before he can fire again, you toss the chair at his head. He dives away and the heavy chair crashes through the window, showering glass onto the patio below.

You move quickly, clamoring over the desk and pinning Capone to the ground. You grab him by the throat, pinning him under you. Capone growls but he can’t shake you. You yank the gun out of his hand and hold it. You press it to his forehead. Sweat is dripping into your eyes and adrenaline has its poisoned claws in you.

A wind blows through the shattered window. Outside, people are yelling about cleanup and to avoid the glass. You keep the gun pressed against Capone’s head but you don’t squeeze the trigger. You look at him and feel him squirm under you.

Eventually the other purpleblood hisses: “What are you waiting for? Do it.”

If you were lesser troll, you would squeeze that trigger as hard as you could.

Instead, you get off of him. You pocket the gun, grab the check, and walk to the door. Capone gets off the ground, staring at you like he’s expecting a surprise bullet to the skull.  

<<I QUIT.>> you say.

You leave the office and the manor, passing by concerned servants and lackeys who look at you but don’t bother stopping you. You get into the truck and leave West New Jack, heading back into the Squalor. The gun is in your pocket—still cold from your hand and still loaded.

You go to the public beach in North New Jack, just within walking distance of the Strip. You park your car at the edge of the seawall and walk ahead, moving down the concrete wall and onto the sand. You avoid the mounds of discarded plastic and cans. You sit on a rusting overturned shopping cart perched at the water’s edge and watch wild dogs and birds scavenge the garbage.

You can’t remember when the beach using to be clean, or even relatively nice. It had always been a dump but you enjoyed hanging out here with Phaxin and Thetas. You would chase the dogs and make them fight over meat scraps. That’s how you started making cash: betting on stray dog fights. It was chump change but you could use it for snacks and games at the Strip.  

You wonder where Thetas is now. You never thought much of death when you were a priest. For mirthful followers, death and annihilation is the ultimate blessing you can give someone. Death is an honor and the concept of ghosts or a soul is blasphemy. The existence of life after death was pointless because death was pure and final. You preached the purity of the mirthful doctrine; not that corrupted bullshit involving the Gold Bitch and the other gods that Gamzee believed in.

Now you don’t believe in either. Maybe you never believed in it at all and that’s why it fell apart so quickly after you hurt Nepeta.

You take the gun out of your jacket pocket and study it. You press the cold muzzle against your skull and ponder how much money your family would get from your life insurance policy. How long they would survive on the money saved in the bank. You consider that maybe this is how you should die: in a filthy yet serene place holding your most important memories. You wonder who would find your body first and how they’ll all react. You wonder if the twins will turn out better if they never knew you at all.

You wonder and consider all of this with the cold muzzle against your skull…when the air hums with prayer. You quickly put away the gun and look for the source of the sound. A long processed of people in gold and amethyst walk down the shoreline, led by a man carrying a flashlight with a red chain around his neck. You recognize the colors from Thetas’s funeral. You watch them move down the beach and finally they settle near a cluster of plastic and garbage cans.

The one with the red chain holds up his hands and speaks to the others, who look at him in awe: “Brothers and sisters, let us clear away a path for our sea-dwelling brethren. Let us work together in a team of twelve as foretold by the Huss to create a better world for all.”

The twelve scatter along the beach, folding out garbage bags and collecting trash in teams of two. The priest notices you and walks over. “You seem to be troubled, my clown brother.”

<<HOW DO YOU FIGURE THAT? GIVEN THAT WE DON’T MOTHERFUCKING KNOW EACH OTHER.>> you sign.

“I wouldn’t be a priest if I couldn’t pick up on the moods of others.” he answers.

Gods, you hate tealbloods. They’re always convinced that their way is the right away whether its justice or an obnoxious cult.

The priest continues, “I recognize you from Sister Thetas’ passing unto the next world. You seemed troubled back then as well.”

<<YOU MEAN HER FUNERAL?>> You snarl.

“The word ‘funeral’ implies an ending and that is not what they are to us. The Huss teaches us that every death, no matter how pointless it appears, has a purpose and although we may live eternally we too may also die: either in great sacrifice or great necessity.”

You fold your arms, unimpressed. You were a preacher once. You know all the stories and ways to win over followers. <<HOW DO YOU MOTHERFUCKING FIGURE THAT?>>

“When I was young, my matesprit and I were both drug addicts and we had a child. We took care of them sometimes but often I would forget they were there. Then my child got sick and we didn’t have the money for a doctor. We spent thousands of boons on drugs but if we had stopped for only a week we would have had enough. But we didn’t and they died.”

<<AND THAT’S WHEN YOU SAW ‘THE LIGHT’?>>

“No. I only dove deeper into my habit. I abandoned my matesprit to die of the same infected injections that plagued me. When I ran out of money, I tried to rob people but that failed because of how sick and weak I was. I couldn’t afford detox so they put me in Amethyst. They turned me out quickly though and I was back on the streets. My old pushers were angry about my debts so I hid with the Church of Ascension. At first I didn’t believe in what they said but eventually it gave me comfort. If I hadn’t lost everything, I wouldn’t have had the motivation to make a change.”

<<HOW NICE FOR YOU.>> You snort, refusing to be moved by the priest’s heartbreaking story. <<THEN COULD YOU TELL ME WHAT GREATER PURPOSE THERE WAS IN ME LOSING MY VOICE, CRIPPLING MY DAUGHTER, AND LIVING A LIFE OF POINTLESS VIOLENCE?>>

“Brother, your anger is not with me but with yourself. We hurt the people we love because we’re unhappy and as for your voice, you never lost it, or you wouldn’t be commanding my attention right now.”

<<DON’T GIVE ME THAT FEEL-GOOD BULLSHIT. DO YOU KNOW WHAT LIFE WITHOUT A TONGUE IS LIKE? NO, YOU FUCKING DON’T, YOU PRETENTIOUS FUCK. I CAN’T TASTE OR TALK NORMALLY. I WOULD GIVE MY RIGHT MOTHERFUCKING ARM TO HAVE MY FUCKING TONGUE BACK.>>

“Why haven’t you done that?”

<<THE FUCK YOU TALKING ABOUT?>>

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but with the proper money or medical insurance, you could have a medical lab reconstruct a new tongue and surgically implant it. They do it for victims of mouth cancer and war veterans. It would take years of therapy but you could talk again.”

You scowl at him. <<THAT’S MOTHERFUCKING MONEY I DON’T HAVE.>>

“Don’t have or don’t want?” the priest argues, “Brother, you wear that clown paint with pride and you tell me you don’t have the resources to acquire a new tongue? Is it the loss of the tongue that’s important or what was connected to it? Is it speech that you treasure or punishing yourself? Have you ever forgiven yourself or do you just apply new bandages when the old wounds start to infectiously ooze? The past _hurts_ you, brother, and you can’t let it go. That’s why you’re still hurting. That’s why you’re still _empty_.”

You flinch. You actually motherfucking _flinch_ because no one’s ever broken you down like that before. You can’t even growl at them. You’re just stunned that someone—a fucking _outsider_ —cut through your anger. They looked at your anger and drowned in the bathtub like a helpless grub. Your mind draws a blank at what to say or do after that.

“Brother,” the priest says gently, “help us clean. Please.”

You stare at him for a minute but get off the cart. With one yank, you pull it out of the sand. You don’t know how many hours you spend on the beach clearing away metal and plastic debris. The ocean is loud behind you. In the distance, you can see seagoat lusii roaming the water, echoing mating calls across the dark water. You heft three giant garbage bags worth of trash and walk with the Hussites (as they prefer to be called) to their pedal cars.

<<WHY DO YOU COLLECT THESE HUNKS OF OLD METAL?>> you ask the priest.

“Our church is not an official one. We don’t want the tax-free benefits that other organizations use to gain wealth and manipulate their followers.” the priest says, “Sometimes followers donate things to us but other than that, we work with what we’re given. We’re good friends with the Altish communities in South New Jack so we trade with them, although our base of operations is in North Aniline End.”

<<NORTH ANILINE END’S BEEN A GHOST TOWN SINCE CALLIOPE.>>

The priest smiles. “That’s true but the motels are still operational. We’ve refurbished it. You see all these people?” He gestured to the followers, who are singing hymns. “All of them used to be homeless drifters. I gave them a purpose. Now all we ask in return is to beautify the planet we all live on.”

You’re not buying into any of this flowery shit but you nod. The beach isn’t even halfway clean by ten o’ clock. You watch the followers tie the bags to the pedal cars.

<<WHAT EXACTLY IS THIS ‘HUSS’ YOU’RE ALWAYS TALKING ABOUT?>> you ask.

“The Hussie is a wayward spirit who stumbled their way into godhood. A cosmic trickster of creativity whose befuddling mistakes created new life and bring forth everything in the world.” The priest smiles. “Or maybe not?”

<<MAYBE NOT? WHAT KIND OF BULLSHIT IS THAT?>>

“The Hussie is a being of conflict. He exists but he also does not exist. He created and destroyed the universe. He is paradoxes. He is space, time, breath, light, and all the other aspects that make up existence.” The priest’s grin expands. “He is the spirit of paradox space, or maybe he’s not. Maybe he’s entirely made up.”   

<<SO WHAT DO YOU BELIEVE IN THEN?>>

“We accept everyone’s headcanons about the mythology. People who practice Hussism are free to practice other religions. The point of Hussism is that nothing is to be taken seriously when everything else is.”

You blink. <<…WHAT?>>

“If you take nothing seriously, you miss out. If you take everything seriously, you will also miss out. You need a good balance of both to enjoy life to the fullest.” He grins. “I’m not even a priest! I was democratically elected for leadership within the church after the previous priest’s untimely death. _Anyone_ can join and lead.”

<<THAT SOUNDS INCREDIBLY CHAOTIC.>>

The priest shrugs. He looks at his followers—who are skeptically squinting at you—and nods. “We have to leave, my brother, but thank you for your help. We rent out the Waddington Community Center on Jinpei Street every Friday night. I think it would give you comfort to come.”

<<I DON’T THINK SO.>>

You walk from the priest, heading up the sand dunes. You climb back up the seawall and dust yourself off before getting into the truck. You drive back to your neighborhood. You return Rufioh’s truck and hand the keys over to Tavros. You have no interest in returning to your trailer so you walk to Kankri’s and knock at the door.

A minute later, Kankri opens the door. “Kurloz?” He wrinkles his nose. “You smell like saltwater and garbage. Don’t tell me you tried to _swim_ at the public beach! Do you have a death wish? Or a desire for a staph infection?”

You stare at him.

Kankri rolls his eyes. “Come in, dirty mime.”

You glare at him but walk through the door. The living room still bears the plaster swatches from the bullet holes being covered up.

Kankri shuts the door behind you. “I’d tell you to be quiet because Terezi is sleeping but you’re a mime.”

You roll your eyes and walk to the bathroom. You pass by the bedroom and listen to Terezi’s incredibly nasal snoring. You shower quickly and look at yourself in the fogged mirror. You search the medicine cabinet but don’t find much: metal safety scissors, battery shaver, and a bottle of children’s aspirin. Terezi flushes Kankri but she doesn’t trust him on his bad days, or Kankri doesn’t trust himself.

 

 

You hold the safety scissors and question whether they can cut _anything_. Two snips later proves you wrong so you continue with your work. When you’re finished the sink is full of hair and your untangled mane of insanity is gone. You’re down to a medium-length nest of curls. You pick up a towel and wipe off the remaining hair and the paint too. You remove your necklaces, pocketing them.

 

 

Kankri opens the door. “Kurloz, what’s taking you so— _ah_!” He stumbles back, startled, “What did you _do_?”

<<I CUT MY HAIR. YOU’RE _THAT_ UNFAMILIAR WITH PERSONAL GROOMING? >>

Kankri grimaces. “It looks weird. I’ve never seen you with so much…” He pauses and whispers, “Kurloz, are you okay? Do you want me to get Rufioh?”

You run your fingers through your short curls. It’s strange to have the weight of the hair gone. You don’t know why you kept it that long in the first place. <<KANKRI, I’M NOT SUICIDAL. I JUST WANTED TO CUT IT.>>

“There’s enough hair in that sink to make a small child.” Kankri scowls. “You’re cleaning that up, by the way.”

<<IF YOU’RE SO WORRIED ABOUT MY PLIGHT, YOU SHOULD CLEAN IT.>>

“ _Bullshit_ I’m cleaning it! There’s five pounds of hair in there! Clean the sink, Kurloz!”

What begins as an argument devolves into Kankri and you throwing hair clippings at each other in the hallway. That’s when Terezi walks onto the scene wearing Scalemate boxers and a T-shirt. She looks at the hair-covered hallway and bathroom and sighs.

“I’m not even going to ask what led to this.” she says, “I’m just going to request that you _both_ clean it up before I flip my shit.”

Kankri and you nod; neither of you want to see Terezi flip her shit. It takes a half-hour to clean the hallway and bathroom, sweeping up stray hairs and clippings. Terezi doesn’t stay up long enough to see it.

Kankri discards the last of the hair in the kitchen bin. “Everyone’s going to think you either got gum in your hair or attacked by scissors.

<<I WANTED A CHANGE. WHAT’S SO HARD TO BELIEVE?>>

“Change doesn’t easily come to coldbloods.” Kankri puts the broom back in the cabinet and plops back on the couch, putting his feet up so you won’t have any room. “Why do you have to worry about progress when you’ll live for a thousand years?”

You frown and grab his legs, lifting them up so you can sit. You stroke his knee, watching a shiver go through him. <<WITH THE CONDITIONS IN NEW JACK CITY, I’LL BE LUCKY IF I’M NOT RIDDLED WITH CANCER AND ARTHRITIS BY THE TIME I’M SEVEN HUNDRED. WHAT MAKES YOU THINK I’M SO INFLEXIBLE?>>

Kankri smirks, “For one thing, you’d think time would have taught you to wear a condom.”

<<OH, I KNOW THE LESSON,>> You smile, <<I JUST DON’T WANT TO DULL THE SENSATION OF MY COLD BULGE IN YOUR HOT NOOK.>>

“I’ve encountered _colder_.” Kankri says, aroused and defiant.

It’s not the kind of challenge you can tolerate. You fuck him on his knees. You bite his shoulder when you climax, reminding him he’s only yours to hate. There are old scars all along his shoulder and softer parts where he’s been bitten before. It must be from the Signless since trolls don’t typically bite their bulge sleeves. It’s definitely not Capone, who’s too calm and controlled to bite anyone in the heat of the moment.

His loss.

“We need to stop doing this.” Kankri pants, “Correction: _you_ need to stop doing this. Making me lose my ground every time you give me that… _look_.”

<<I HATE YOU TOO MUCH TO TOLERATE YOUR HYPOCRITICAL NONSENSE. I BET YOU NEVER THOUGHT ABOUT CONDOMS WITH TEREZI.>>

“I do now!” Kankri insists.

<<BULLSHIT.>>

Kankri growls and rakes his claws down your chest, leaving raised marks. You kiss him hard, biting his lips, and then leave. It’s one in the morning and the sky is bright blue. You start humming a Hussite hymn as you enter your home but you’re in too good of a mood to be annoyed. 


End file.
